Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
I nodded, taking another sip. “Tell me about how you decided to leave New York.”
Keeping his voice low, he told me about how he was making more money than he’d ever thought possible, but never felt like he fit in there. He hated corporate culture, and he loathed the avarice it fed on. While guys he’d hired on with bought luxury apartments, boats, and Porsches, he’d just kept investing his money, sending it home, or saving it.
“I stayed in that same shitty studio apartment you saw when you came to New York,” he told me.
“It wasn’t shitty, it was just small. But I was grateful to have a place to stay and a shoulder to cry on. And for the record, you could have shared the bed with me. You did not have to sleep on the floor.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I did.”
“Beckett, I told you then and I’ll say it again now—I trust you. I will always trust you.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, then he tipped up his beer, finishing it off. “I’m gonna have one more. You?”
I held up my bottle, which was still half-full. “I’m good.”
When he got back, he sat slightly farther away from me on the couch, and I tried not to be disappointed. “So what made you finally move back here?”
“My dad, actually.”
As I finished my beer, I listened to him tell me about his dad’s declining health and how he realized it wasn’t enough to send checks home anymore.
“My sisters told me he was thinking of selling the ranch because he just couldn’t run it alone,” he said. “That’s when it hit me—I was in the wrong place. New York was never going to feel like home. I gave my notice and moved back here within a month.”
“No regrets?”
He seemed to think about that carefully. “I look back sometimes. But not at New York—or that life—with any regret.”
“What do you look back on and regret?”
He glanced at my legs again. “Nothing. Can I get you another beer now?”
I looked at the empty bottle in my hand. “Sure, why not? But cut me off after this. Three is my limit, even on a Friday night.”
He set his bottle on the coffee table and left the room. When he returned, he handed me a beer and sat a little closer this time. He smelled so good. My pulse picked up, and I tried to ignore it by taking a drink.
What on earth was wrong with all the single women around here? Why weren’t they beating down the door, wearing perfume and their nice underwear beneath their short skirts, bringing him casseroles and apple pies? Would it be weird to come right out and ask why he was still single? After two beers, I felt brave enough to do it.
“So I’m curious,” I said, tucking a strand of damp hair behind my ear. “All your friends are getting married. Have you ever thought about it?”
He shrugged. “Not really.”
“How come?”
“At this point, I’ve got all I can handle running the ranch and looking after my dad. Dating someone would be tough.” He thought for a moment before going on. “And I’ve . . . struggled with serious relationships.”
“How come?”
He hesitated. “I just didn’t find having a girlfriend an easy thing to balance with my goals. Other things were more important to me. And she never liked hearing that.”
“So there was someone.” I tipped my head and smiled, even though jealousy flared in my gut. “Who was she?”
He exhaled and took a drink. “Her name was Caroline.”
“What was she like?”
“Smart. Driven. Successful.”
I hated her a little. “What did she do?”
“She was a producer at NBC.”
“Beautiful?”
He jerked one broad shoulder. “Yeah. She was beautiful.”
“What did she look like?”
“She was tall and blond.”
Of course she was, dammit. I took a drink of my beer to wash down the resentment. Not that I’d expect him to date a hideous gremlin, but did he have to describe the exact opposite of me? “Why’d you break up?”
“Which time?”
I smiled. “The last time.”
“I announced I was moving back here.”
“She didn’t want to come with you?”
“I didn’t ask her.”
“Oh.” I felt better. Bitchier, but better. “Why not?”
He didn’t answer right away, just studied the bottle in his hands. “Things with us were always temporary. She wouldn’t have stayed to the end.”
“How do you know?”
“Because no one ever does.”
My gut instinct was to argue with him—to take the side of soulmates and true love. But all I could think of was my own failed marriage. And my mother’s warnings. And even Beckett’s mom abandoning her family. I wanted to believe in happily ever after, but what evidence did I really have that it existed? That it wasn’t just blind luck for a fortunate few?
“But Caroline and I fought a lot even before that,” Beckett went on. “She was always on me about being so closed-off. She claimed she could never tell how I felt. And she said I never prioritized her or us over work.” He shrugged. “Which was true. I didn’t.”